


The Bargain

by CrackingLamb



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Blindfolds, Bondage, Comeplay, Cunnilingus, Domination, Dubious Consent, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Knifeplay, Masturbation, OOC Author, Orgasm Delay/Denial, PWP, Rough Sex, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-05 01:42:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17909609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrackingLamb/pseuds/CrackingLamb
Summary: Kellogg has made a bargain with the Sole Survivor.  Who will break first?Inspired by The Piano (1993).*Author's Warning* This fic isnotmy usual cup of tea to write, and if it's not your cup of tea to read, I suggest you don't, even if you love all the rest of my work.  I won't be offended, I sincerely promise.





	1. Negotiated

“Are you sure you want to do this? I won't pull back, and I won't grant you...mercy.” His words rumbled in her ear, close but not touching. With her eyes covered by the blindfold he'd made, and her arms and legs secured to the chair with cuffs and rope, she couldn't have moved if she wanted to. Why did she agree to this?

_Because in the moment he suggested this, you felt more alive than you had since you woke up from the ice. Admit it, to yourself if no one else._

_Shut up_. _He has information I need, and if this is how I have to get it...so be it_.

“I...I'm sure,” she stammered aloud, tucking the errant thoughts back into their cubbyhole in her mind. His chuckle echoed in the blackness inside her head, a mockery of her attempt to rationalize her way out of this.

“Sure you are. You don't even know what you're up against, do you?” Something in his tone make her spine stiffen, as if he was expecting her to bow out already. She wouldn't let that happen.

“Do you?” she countered, bravado masking the deathclaws rampaging in her gut.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he whispered, so close to her ear she could feel his breath, “you're in so much trouble.”

“Bring it on, Kellogg,” she snarled. She felt the zipper of her Vault suit slide down her chest, the colder air of the room assaulting her skin, making it tighten with goosebumps.

“I will,” he promised. “No holds barred.”

The steady pull of the zipper continued until she could feel it had parted all the way down to her waist. With a touch far more delicate than she expected, he pulled the open sides of it away, exposing her to his gaze. She still wore her bra, it was true, but she had no doubts that that scant protection was fleeting. Even as she thought about it, the cold hard length of a knife was pressed under the band.

“Stay still. This isn't a game I want ending with stitches. That would just ruin all my fun, wouldn't it?” His voice was dark and earthy, his breath warm on her face. She could hear the squeak of leather as he moved and with an upward flick of the knife, her bra was sliced open, baring her breasts to the air. For a moment the back of the blade ran down her skin over her sternum, then it was gone.

She tried to breathe normally, like she was unaffected, but she didn't know if she succeeded. She felt lightheaded already, and if she could see, she was sure the room would be spinning. She waited to feel his hands on her, but nothing came. In fact, she heard him step back, his tread deliberate and heavy on the concrete floor of Fort Hagen. There was a scraping sound and she imagined in her mind's eye that he was leaning against the metal desk facing her, seeing her bound and helpless and half naked.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I'm looking at you.”

“Are you going to...?”

“Not yet. Look at you sitting there, all tied up and fearful, like I'm going to rape you. You know I won't, right?”

“No, I don't know that.” She heard something rustle – clothing? – and then hit the floor. Buckles, zippers, laces...she was able to identify all those sounds as they happened and her breath froze despite his assertion that he wouldn't do anything to her. “Are you naked?”

“Perhaps.” He was moving again, his steps now nearly silent. _Bare feet_ , she thought. For some reason that struck her as odd in this situation. That he would be naked in this dirty space, with the mess of ransacked desks and cabinets, the detritus of two hundred years of neglect and dirt and disintegration all around them. It made her feel second hand vulnerability that he was naked here and she was not. It was an interesting choice for a power play, she thought. After all, all of this _was_ a power play.

“N...now what?”

“Now I'm going to look at you some more, vaultie. What do they call you?”

“No names,” she said in a warning tone. “You said...”

“Yeah, I know what I said. I changed my mind. What do they call you?”

“General,” she replied firmly, as if by saying it she could armor herself with her title. His low laughter turned that armor to ash.

“I like it when they're feisty,” he murmured. She heard footsteps again, a whisper of callouses on grit. They stopped behind her and before she could guess what he was up to, she felt fingers running through her hair. “Do they call you Red?”

“No,” she lied. Of course they did. With hair like hers – burnished like new copper – and the temperament to match, how could they not?

The slight straining sound of tendons stretching reached her ears just before his mouth did. “I bet they call you Red. Are you red all over?”

She sucked in a breath and held it until spots showed behind the blindfold. Counting slowly she let it out, let her body sink into the chair regardless of how uncomfortable it was. “I thought your aim was to find out?”

“Atta girl,” he said with faint praise at her defiance against fear. “I will, of course. I just wondered if you'd tell me.”

His fingers trailed through her hair once more, not tugging or pulling. Her head still moved with his hand, like she was a cat being petted. Then he moved away from her again. She couldn't track him once he stopped, didn't know how far away he was. A small sound reached her, skin on skin, rhythmic and slow. Her cheeks burned. She could endure this, she told herself. She had to. That was the bargain. The more she let him have his way, the more he'd promised to tell her about the Institute.

She let herself sag into her bonds, drawing strength from the tightness around her arms, the flare of pain in her shoulder joints. Once she got what she needed, it would be over and she would put a bullet in his brain. She promised herself that. She ignored the tingle between her legs as steadfastly as she listened to hear where he was going to go next.

“You're awful tense there, Red,” he said, and he sounded much closer than she'd expected. The surprise of it made her head shoot up straight, as if that would help her pinpoint his location. That whisper of skin of skin remained constant.

“What are you doing?”

“What do you think I'm doing?” he growled out. She bit her lip and could have sworn she heard him groan before it was cut off. Her body betrayed her and she could feel her nipples tighten into peaks. She heard a harsh bark of laughter. “Oh, Red, we're gonna have so much fun together.”

“Fuck you.”

“That's the idea,” he managed to say, and then she felt warm spurts hit her chest, running down her belly to form a sticky coating. She bucked against her restraints, shocked and horrified and...no no no no...

A moan slipped past her lips as he finished, the trails running down over her breasts, growing cold and raising goosebumps on her skin. She hoped he couldn't tell that she was wet. She hoped she wasn't unconsciously squirming in the chair because of the burning between her thighs. She willed herself to be still and listened for him.

He wasn't even breathing hard from what she could tell. She could also hear water dripping from somewhere in the room, then heard footfalls as he approached her. A cloth passed over skin, wet and cold, but revitalizing at the same time. He wiped her clean, even dipping down under the edges of the Vault suit where his mess had soaked through.

“You want mercy, Red?”

“You said you wouldn't give me any,” she whispered. What was he going to do now?

“I'm not a total monster. I've had my fun.” His body heat washed over her as he leaned in close and she couldn't help but draw in a sharp breath at it. “You need to come, little General?”

She knew it was futile to struggle, but her brain didn't care. She tried to pull her arms free, to kick her legs, to tip herself away from him in the chair, to do anything to get away from the velvet in his voice, the promise in his words. She was so turned on she could feel the wetness between her legs growing cold as it flooded the crotch of her suit. She wanted to deny it, wanted to deny the _need_. He rumbled with laughter; he knew.

“Bet it wouldn't take much,” he murmured, his lips nearly touching the skin at her throat, his fingers still spread on her chest through the damp cloth. He was keeping to his end of this bargain and he wasn't technically touching her. The washcloth was. But it was a fine line. The cloth dropped lower against her belly and she was sure he could feel her tremble. His cloth covered hand slipped inside the suit and pressed against her pubic bone. She shuddered and moaned and that was all he seemed to need to encourage him. Wrapping it around a single finger, he dipped lower still, touching her clit. A spasm rocked through her, and she could feel herself shaking in her bonds. He pressed harder, rubbing back and forth in tiny increments until she let out her breath with a cry, the orgasm spreading through her limbs like fire.

She was limp in the chair when he pulled away, dropping the cloth to the floor with an audible plop. She felt her arms being untied and uncuffed, then her legs. Still she sat there, immobile and languid, waiting until he removed the blindfold.

“Mind your eyes,” he said before he pulled it away and she kept them closed against the flare of light. When she was finally able to look at him – which took quite a few minutes, and not because of the brightness – she saw that he'd pulled on the black trousers he'd been wearing, but no shirt. He exuded a vigorous strength, even though he appeared to be in middle age. He leaned against the desk, several feet away from her, giving her all the space she needed to recover.

Once her hands had stopped tingling, she pulled up the zipper of the Vault suit, feeling far less vulnerable once she was fully clothed again. She pushed away the thought that the suit had been ruined. She knew it could be washed. It was her sense of self that had been violated, and not necessarily by him either.

 _Keep on track_ , she told herself.

“The bargain, Kellogg,” she said aloud hoarsely.

He nodded and pulled a cigar from the box next to him, taking his time lighting it. After a few good puffs he looked up at the ceiling, as if he was sifting through whatever information he had. Finally he smiled and looked back to her still sitting there.

“You wanna know how I knew so much about you before you even stepped foot into this fort? The crows. They're synth spies. The ones at the Vault watched you climb out of there. The ones in Concord watched you fight that deathclaw and rescue those Minutemen. And the ones outside here watched you enter. So tell me, Red, are they going to watch you leave too, or are we not finished?”

She shot out of the chair, fury propelling her across the space and she spat into his face, “You know we're not finished. That doesn't tell me anything _useful_.”

He smiled, slow and predatory. “Good.”

 

 


	2. In the Dark

He gave her a towel, a bar of soap, a frayed, battered set of military fatigues and left her alone. The walls were lined with lockers and open stalls with crooked shower heads sprouting like metal weeds. With a firm click, he'd closed the door, giving her privacy. The water was even somewhat warm and she wondered how he managed that when she couldn't do it for her settlements.

Clean, dry and dressed, she went back into the main room to find him lounging on a sofa, a book in his lap. “There's a room at the end of the hall,” he said without preamble. “You passed by it on your way in. You can sleep there.”

“And you?”

“I'll be right here, sweetheart.”

His revolver was laying on a table next to the sofa. He had to know she could reach it if she wanted to. As she stood there his head turned slightly, seeing her in his periphery. She lost her nerve and retreated to the room he mentioned, thankful that the door both actually closed and locked. Alone with her thoughts, she paced.

Now that her heart was no longer hammering in her chest, she realized she needed to make some decisions and not just act out of primal instinct. She needed his information, she needed it more than she needed to maintain her outward aloofness. This world was a horror show, bloody and dangerous and full of atrocities. In many respects he was the least of them. Keeping herself emotionally distant from this wasteland had proved to be as difficult as letting anyone inside her guard. She missed her old life, she missed cars and hot water and – _God_ – chocolate. She missed Nate and the pragmatic approach he'd taken to life. He would have fit in so much better than she was. She wanted nothing more than to go back to the Vault and curl up inside one of those pods, never to waken again. But she couldn't do that, could she? Her son was out there somewhere, and Kellogg knew where.

He knew about _her_.

That thought smashed through the wall she'd erected to keep a lid on her sanity and she stopped dead in her tracks. His offhand caveat that he wouldn't ask for her name was an illusion to make her feel like she had room for leverage. He knew perfectly well who she was.

“Damn him straight to hell,” she whispered fiercely.

_C'mon Joan, you had to know that he knew it. He recognized you. He knew you were the survivor from the Vault, didn't he? He chased down that place, killed Nate and took Shaun. Did you honestly think he'd done that without knowing who you were too?_

_Fuck off, brain_.

She clenched her head, pulled at her own hair in frustration, trying to stop the flow of thoughts now that the dam had broken.

_I hate him._

_No, you hate what he represents. You've been around this block before. You know how evil begets evil. You know how mercenaries work._

_I still hate him. He shot Nate._

_He could have shot you too, as soon as you walked in here. Instead he..._

_He offered to let me_ prostitute _myself for information!_

_So why did you say yes?_

_I'll kill him_ , she promised herself, ignoring the question.

“Lights out, Red,” his purr boomed over the PA system. The whole time she'd fought her way to his rooms he'd taunted her with his voice. He'd tracked her, tried to convince her to leave, to get out while she could. She should have listened.

The dark wasn't as complete as she feared it would be once he flipped the power off. There were no windows in the small room she was in, but light still bled in from under the door. Which meant he had lights on elsewhere in the Fort.

 _Another power play_ , she thought. _Fine, let him think he's won this round. As soon as he's asleep, he's toast_.

She still had her Pip-Boy, and she turned on the light, bathing the room in soft green. She curled herself into a ball on one of the beds, staring at that square of brightness. She knew she wouldn't sleep and watched the chronometer tick by instead. She gave him an hour, then sneaked from the bedroom back to the main room.

She'd turned off her Pip-Boy light, but her eyes adjusted to the dark quickly, picking out shadows of furniture and the lighter shape of his sleeping form on the big bed in the center of the room. Beyond the double doors was the computer console room, the one where he'd...

 _Focus, Joanie_.

His breathing was even and slow, and he didn't move much in his sleep. She crept along the back of the sofa, crouched low enough that even if he looked he wouldn't see her. The revolver was still on the table and she snatched it up, cradling it so the cylinder didn't make any noise in her hand.

By the time she'd made it to the bedside and pointed the revolver at his head, she was sweating. She willed her heart to stop thumping so loud she could hear it and slid her finger around the trigger. Before she could squeeze it, he turned his head and opened his eyes. Shock held her still.

He watched her. “You're either gonna do it, or you're not. What will it be, Red?”

She steadied her shaking hand with the other, keeping the barrel in his face. But she couldn't seem to pull it off. Her whole body was trembling now and her breaths came like sobs, gasping and noisy.  She didn't even know why she was so hesitant, it wasn't like she ever balked at killing raiders or Gunners or any number of other wasteland creatures.

“Kill me, Red. You'll be free of me.”

“And I'll never know what I need to,” she retorted, trying to keep the whine from her voice.

Kellogg propped his arms behind his head, still watching her with the incurious stare of a wild beast seeing a hunter for the very first time. “That's true,” he agreed conversationally. “But then you'll also know I can never touch you. 'Cause I plan to, sweetheart. Again and again...”

Unbidden, desire flared, making tremors run throughout her body. She needed to nip that before it grew any more powerful. The trigger flexed under her finger and she cringed, waiting for the sound of the shot, the sight of his face obliterated by the bullet. But it didn't come. “What...?”

“I'm not an idiot, Red. I unloaded it. But I wanted to know how far you'd go.”

She let her arms drop, the useless revolver hanging from her fingers. She sobbed once and thought about just bashing his head in with the empty weapon, but he was too fast. A hand shot out from behind his head and gripped her throat, just hard enough to keep her in place.

“You're a brave woman,” he growled, pulling her inexorably closer to him. “I like that about you. But this ain't about _liking_ , is it? You got trust issues, and hell, I don't blame you. But I bet we fit, little General. You want me to prove it?”

“No,” she whispered, denying the thrill that went down her spine as soon as his purring voice worked its way through her brain.

“Oh, I think someone's being dishonest,” he said. He'd pulled her enough that she either had to put a knee on the bed or fall onto him. Her hands braced automatically, one of them landing on his bare chest for balance.

“I think I want you to fuck off and die,” she snarled. The hand around her throat shifted to the back of her head. Kellogg gripped her scalp and pulled on her hair. A gasp escaped her as the pain of it struck. But it wasn't the kind of pain that made her recoil, she realized. And from the gleam in his eye, she could tell he'd seen it too.

“You like this, don't you?”

“No.”

“Liar liar. Can't let you keep pants on if they're on fire, Red.”

She struggled, pulling herself away as he brought her closer still. She felt individual hairs give way in his grip. With just one hand he brought her so close she was forced to straddle him or tear all her hair out. His strength was astonishing.

“I hate you,” she hissed.

“Yeah, I can tell. How wet are you right now, Red?” With his free hand he pressed on the base of her spine, bringing her flush against him. He was fully erect under the covers. She made an inarticulate growling sound and he chuckled. “I see.”

“Let me go.”

“What if I don't want to? You gonna scalp yourself to get away?”

“I might.”

His grip in her hair tightened and her head fell back into his touch, helpless to escape it. He half sat up, his mouth near her bared throat, the heat of him seeping through the ragged fatigues she still wore until she was burning up from it.

“I'd love to see you try,” he whispered before laving his tongue the length of her neck. It was shocking how good it felt when all she thought she would feel was revulsion. He bucked his hips under her and without thought she bore down to meet him. It was harder to deny what she wanted in the dark and she wished desperately that there was light.

“Why would I give in?” she managed to grind out.

“You know the bargain, Red. If you fuck me, I'll tell you more.” He licked up the other side of her neck, smiling against her skin as she shivered. “How badly do you want to know?”

He let her go then, and she sprang up, prepared to scurry off his prone body. But she didn't move, didn't dare _breathe_ in the silence that followed. He was right, of course. He had her over a barrel and she'd agreed to be suspended there. His eyes were still on hers as she straddled him, her body aching for release and his so close and ready to give it. In his own way, he was giving her a choice. If she stayed where she was, it was inevitable they would fuck, and she couldn't deny him after. If she left, he would let her. But this would drag on longer, this push and pull. The bargain weighed on her.

 _You want to_ , her mind whispered. _You want to purge yourself on him like something broken seeking healing._

_No..._

_Oh...yes_.

In the end, she unbuttoned the trousers of the fatigues to his accompanying smile. “I only want the information,” she said. “Not you.”

“Keep tellin' yourself that, little Red.” His arms came around her then, pulling her to his chest. He shoved the fatigues off her hips, bunching them where her thighs met her ass. It was just enough for him to thrust into her, which he did, pushing the covers out of his way. That one point of skin on skin contact was all they had, his cock thrust inside her so hard it should have hurt. But it didn't, because once again he had been right. She was so wet it was embarrassing.

Kellogg's hands clamped to her hips, holding her in place as he thrust into her, making her bounce on him from the force of it. It was punishing and hard and she was forced to admit it felt glorious. She started to ride with him as he bucked, slamming herself onto his length with a wildness she'd never let free before. His fingers were going to leave bruises on her, she could tell. But the pleasure was mounting and she didn't want it to stop. She could abandon herself to this, just once, she thought. Just this once, to get it out of her system. When she came it was like a slap, her walls clenching on him so tight it was painful.

“Christ, woman...” he grunted, pushing her onward through her climax as he sought his own. She barely heard him over the cries she made. With a grunt he heaved into her, filling her to overflowing. The aftershocks made her twitch on him, feeding the cycle of sensitivity until she was nearly ready to come again.

He collapsed under her, letting his hands fall free from her hips as he softened inside her. She stayed where she was, thrumming with a sense of something lacking. Her orgasm had been release, but it hadn't been fulfillment, and she felt suddenly more vulnerable than she had half naked in front of him. She pulled away and sat at the end of the bed, her knees huddled to her chest as his come spilled from her to puddle on the covers. She ignored it.

“Give,” she said vehemently.

Kellogg sat up against the headboard, leaving the empty space of the bed between them. He regarded her in the shadows, his gaze thoughtful. “You've seen Gen-3's by now, haven't you?”

“I have.”

“They are all augmented with your son's DNA. That's why they had me take him. Pure specimen, you see, untouched by the filthy rads of the surface.”

“But...haven't they been around for a long time?”

“Yes, they have. Think about that Red. Now go back to your room. You need to sleep.”

“Why do you care if I sleep?”

“Because we aren't done yet, are we? I don't want you passing out from exhaustion rather than my...attentions.”

Kellogg turned on his side away from her, leaving her to get off the bed and exit the room on her own, doing up the buttons on the fatigues as she went. She expected to feel dirty and used, but the self loathing didn't come. Her mind was too busy being a whirlwind of racing thoughts. She didn't think she would sleep, but as soon as she laid down on the bed again – the door securely locked behind her – she was gone.

 

 


	3. The Pocketwatch

She woke to knocking on the door. “You hungry, Red?”

A spasm jolted through her as she startled awake before she recognized Kellogg's voice. Heart racing, she tried to process his words and form a reply that wasn't just a vague grunt. She had actually slept better than she had in months and for a moment she was frozen by that knowledge. Then she was angry at herself for it and sat up in the bed, face towards the door, scowling as if he would feel it through the wood. “The fuck kind of question is that? Of course I am.”

A resounding laugh was his only response, and she could hear him walk away, his steps heavy. She wondered if he did that on purpose, to let her know where he was from time to time. He'd done it before, letting her know where he was in the room when she was blindfolded. He could make himself light on his feet too, to keep her in suspense. It was perversely comforting that he seemed to be thinking of these things, regardless of his reasons. She wasn't even going to examine what the sound of his _voice_ did to her, especially after last night.

She put on her boots, but didn't lace them. There was no point; she wasn't going outside. She still wore the fatigues since they were more comfortable than her Vault suit, or at least, she told herself that. The truth was, the Vault suit left too little to the imagination, and she wasn't ready to face Kellogg and her own inexplicable desire for him with him being able to tell. Not to mention the memories she now had of being in it. She unlocked the door and took a steadying breath before going around the corner and up some stairs to where she could hear him puttering around in the kitchen.

The room was large enough to feed a whole platoon, as she supposed had once been housed here before the war. With just the two of them, it seemed too empty and the silence stretched and warped between them. He spared her a single glance before sliding a plate of...something in front of her. She'd been out of the Vault long enough to know that one didn't question edible food for its origins, and she ate what he gave her without comment. When she was done she took her plate to the sink, accidentally brushing against him as he did the same. She jumped backwards, her heart abruptly in her throat, heat pooling in her belly.

He watched her for a moment, but made no move to touch her or otherwise invade her space. “Jumpy, Red?”

“Can you blame me?”

“No, I suppose not.” He looked away then, and busied himself finding his lighter for the cigar he held. There was something about him today that hadn't been there before. If she didn't know better, she'd say it was remorse. But a man like him surely didn't feel such a _humane_ emotion. Still, it was hard to deny when he finally turned back to her, his face too serious and eyes speculative. He rubbed his jaw with a hand and she could hear the rasp of it across his stubble. “Listen, Red. If you want to stop...”

“I don't have what I need from you yet,” she interrupted, not bothering to question why she was so adamant about staying. She still didn't like him, would still happily kill him if given half a chance, in fact. But she was honest with herself enough to realize that he made her feel more alive than anything had yet to date. In her heart of hearts she wasn't ready to give that up just yet.

“That's not what I meant...I mean...” He sighed, the sound long and almost mournful. “I never wanted to be that kind of monster.”

She leaned against the sink edge and regarded him. She knew perfectly well the expression she gave him was challenging. “Are you willing to give me the information some other way?”

He stared at her for a moment, then left the room on silent feet. She watched him go, breathing both a sigh of relief and maybe one of disappointment that he didn't stay and fight her about it. One thing was certain, however. Something in him had changed.

She went out into the hall and down the stairs, wondering where he'd gone until she heard the sound of the elevator going up to the rooftop. She ambled around the main room then, looking over his things. There were precious few personal touches to the space. His house in Diamond City had been that way too once she'd gotten past the complicated lock that was surely _not_ standard for such a community. On the nightstand next to the bed she found a pocketwatch. It was gold, antique and wasn't running. She contemplated why someone like him would keep such a thing. He seemed so practical and economical about everything else. Hell, even the clothes she was wearing he must have found there at the Fort. There was no way they'd fit his frame. And she'd yet to see him in anything other than a button down shirt tucked into black combat pants with that leather jacket.

She picked up the watch and turned it over. It was engraved.

“ _For my Connie. Love, Sarah_.”

“Sarah...” she mused aloud. There were no dates, but she could guess how old the watch was from the wear and tear on the chain, the softened edges of the gold, the fact that it didn't run. Kellogg had told her the Institute wanted her son for his DNA. And there was at least a generation's worth of Gen-3 synths running around the Commonwealth. How old was he? How long ago had she'd seen his face through her pod, calling her a backup? He looked exactly the same, as if it had been no more than a few months. But even Nick had said the child he had with him in Diamond City looked to be ten years old. This watch was older than ten years. It was older than twenty.

The elevator started back down, and she hastily put the watch back on the nightstand, moving away from it to stand in the center of the room. She tried to reason with herself that he couldn't possibly be wholly evil if some woman had once loved him.

_What if that was his mother, though? What if..._

_Shut it, brain_.

She watched him maneuver through the jumbled piles of wires and panels and debris until he saw her and stopped. She crossed her arms and faced him squarely, daring him to make the first move. She had learned something about him now, and that knowledge gave her courage. It gave her an edge over him for the first time.

“I won't hold you here against your will,” he said softly. “But if you stay, know that I am not changing the conditions of our bargain.”

She swallowed, aware that her mouth had suddenly gone dry. “I understand.”

He smirked, the scars running down his face crinkling. “Do you? I don't think you do.”

“You may not be as much of a monster as people think you are, Kellogg, but you're aren't afraid to exploit people's fears, is that it? Tell me, what are _you_ getting out of this?”

For a second he looked shocked, but he covered it over quickly with another smirking grin. “I'm getting my rocks off, sweetheart. And so are you, I might add.” He stepped into the room, looming over her as he approached. She didn't move, didn't give an inch so he could take a mile. His grin grew from sarcastic to lascivious in a flash. “You aren't jumping now,” he said.

“No, I'm not.”

“Why?”

“Who's Sarah?” His expression turned to rage so fast she actually tensed, bracing for his fists. Her eyes closed; she didn't really want to see it coming. His breathing slowed with some effort and she cracked a peek at him. The sudden ferocity was gone from him and he looked over at the nightstand and its forlorn occupant.

“She was my wife,” he finally said. His voice was stark and hollow. No gravelly purr, no emotion of any kind. “She's dead now. Murdered along with our daughter.”

Furious tears sprang to her eyes and she dashed them away with a violent swipe. “I'm guessing from your instantaneous reaction that it was probably your own fault and you feel guilty about it. And yet you... _you_ murdered _my_ husband. In cold blood!” Without thought she shoved him and he went back a step before catching himself. “You _are_ a monster. You are the worst kind of monster.”

He recoiled from the venom in her voice, his hands raised in a placating manner. “I did what I was told to do, Red.”

“I was there, asshole! He wouldn't give you Shaun, and you shot him. It wasn't the plan, was it? He was supposed to be meek and docile and just _give up our baby!_ ” Unstoppable anger coursed through her now, and she beat on his chest with clenched fists. “Fuck you, Kellogg. Goddamn you to hell. You have no right to your self-serving bastard bargains that serve you and you alone. Tell me what I need to know, or so help me _God_ I will end you right now!”

He caught her flailing fists, held them tight in his grip, the leather of his gloves rubbing against her hands until it hurt. “Your son is an old man, Red. I took him from the Vault sixty years ago.”

“No,” she breathed, denying it, denying him. “No! How is that even possible? How the _fuck_ do you get to stand here looking exactly the same as that day while my husband is a corpse and my son is...HOW?”

“The Institute has put implants in me. Experimental tech against aging, some cybernetic enhancements. I'm a hundred and eight, Red.”

“No!” she wailed and burst into tears. She pulled away from him to beat at him some more and then she ran. Ran as far as she could, down empty corridors and through ruined rooms where vestiges of the pre-war world haunted her. Past the still sparking bodies of synths she'd fought to get to him. And he let her.

When she could go no further, she sank into a corner and sobbed and railed and kicked and screamed. No doubt he could hear her venting her awful, impotent rage. She knew he'd followed her. She heard his distinctive heavy tread on the floorboards. But he stayed away, stayed at the other end of the gallery where she'd ended up. She caught him giving the room a cursory once over to see the damage she'd wrought on her way to finding him. He lifted a single eyebrow but made no comments.

At last the flood ran its course and she was wrung dry and limp as a rag. She remained where she was, but she could see him leaning on the empty frame of what was once a doorway.

“Why?” she asked, her voice gruff and croaking.

“They have the means,” he shrugged. At least he didn't pretend to misunderstand what she was asking. She could respect that he was blunt and to the point about everything. Even this.

“And the will?” she offered sardonically.

“Yes. They like to play God, and there's no one to tell them they shouldn't. You and I, we know this shithole of a world isn't what it used to be. Fuck, I walked this whole continent, one end to the other. When I ran out of road, I stayed, 'cause there was nowhere else to go that mattered. And I worked for them. I did their dirty surface jobs.” He made a face she couldn't immediately identify, but then realized was scorn.

“You've never been face to face with the consequences before, have you?” she asked, softer now. She had no strength left to fight him. No desire to do anything but curl up and die right there. All she'd fought for, all she'd sacrificed and bled and cried for. All the lives she'd taken for the greater good. It was all for nothing. Her son was an old man, Kellogg wouldn't lie to her about that. Shaun was an old man and she had nothing.

He pushed away from the door frame and squatted on his heels at the end of the row of desks where she'd taken refuge. “No, I guess I haven't. I've always cut and run, or there was never anyone left to worry about.”

She let that sink in. As horrible as he was, as much as he'd done to wreak terror and atrocity across the breadth of the country, he'd never had to face it before. She wasn't too sure she didn't feel sympathy for him all of a sudden. His poor choices had landed him here, it was true. But how had he been shaped by them? How much had he suffered to become the complicated creature he was? How close was she to _becoming_ him?

“So, what now?” she asked after long minutes had ticked by.

“What do you mean?”

“The bargain is completed, right? I know all that I need to. But I still owe you something, don't I?”

“Not like this, Red.”

“I'm offering you one last chance to break me.” She gave him a sad smile. “If you can.”

“I don't want to break you, Red.” He paused and looked away from her and when his eyes returned, they were full of regrets, a century's worth. “I'm sorry. For all of it.”

She thought she had run dry, but his simple apology brought fresh tears to her eyes. She let them run unchecked down her cheeks. “Yeah...” she said. “So am I.”

 

 


	4. Paid In Full

“You sure about this?” he asked, echoing the words he'd said to her just two days ago, when she was blindfolded and tied to a chair and terrified. Then she had been a threat to him and a challenge to his dominance as the most dangerous person in the Commonwealth. Now she was empty, soulless. She had nothing left to fight for, nothing _worth_ fighting for. Only this. Only the feeling of him overwhelming her better sense and bringing to life something buried so deep in her that she'd never known it was there. And she craved that feeling like a drug. It was all she had left.

“Do what you want with me, Kellogg. I won't stop you.”

He snorted. “Don't see how you could anyway, sweetheart, all staked out like that. But you know what to say if...”

“Yeah, I do.”

She was bent over a desk, padded to keep the edges from cutting into her. He'd cuffed her wrists to the back of it, her ankles to the front. She was naked. There was just enough play in the cuffs that she could breathe, and she could move her torso a little bit, could move her head around. But that was it. She was utterly at his mercy, and it was a relief to give in to that, to let him have control. She felt oddly safe this way, knowing he couldn't do anything to her that hadn't already been done to her spirit. It was cathartic to surrender something of herself to him, to let him win, even if it was no longer a competition of wills.

And if she really wanted it to end, all she had to do was say the word they'd agreed upon. _Apples_. They were gone now, like too much of the old world, although Kellogg mentioned getting them as a child in the NCR. It seemed appropriate, something they both recognized and remembered. It was an odd sort of connection, but she'd take it if that was all they had. It wasn't like there was much else to choose from unless one counted bloody violence as common ground.

She felt him pull her buttocks apart, spreading her sex open. A breath of air washed over her, setting her nerves to tingling. “Damn, wish I had a camera,” he murmured, kneeling down behind her. She could hear the leather in his jacket squeal. He ran a single finger down her folds, already slick with arousal. “Look at that pretty little pussy. You _are_ red all over.”

She moaned at his touch, and knew she grew wetter at his words. He knew it too. He huffed a small laugh and ran his finger down the other side of her center, the leather rough against her. She squirmed.

“Hold still,” he commanded, but she couldn't obey. His gloves were abrasive and her body was so ready for him she was near to coming already. She clenched. “Mm, do that again.”

She did and heard him drop something on the floor near her feet. His bare hand slid across her ass before his finger slipped inside her, pushing against her walls, seeking something. She gasped when he found it, a spot inside her that made her squeeze on him involuntarily. He pulled his finger back and did it all again, seeking, finding, pushing. She was panting now, her her confined hands grasping for something she could not reach.

“K...Kellogg...” she begged. “Please...”

He pulled his finger out and stepped away and she groaned in frustration. She couldn't see him, could barely turn her head from side to side, but she could hear his zippers and buckles and catches. She could hear the swish of fabric as he stripped bare. The next thing she felt was the blunt head of his cock at her entrance, pulsing lightly in time with his heartbeat. She tried to lift her hips to meet him, but the angle was impossible. She couldn't give now, only take what he gave her.

He shifted, but instead of entering her, he ran the length of his cock against her clit, making her jump and writhe in the cuffs. She'd have new bruises at wrist and ankle to go with the ones on her hips from his hands. But she didn't care anymore, and there was no one else to see them anyway.

“Kellogg...” she whispered, breathless.

“Oh, I'll get there, little Red. I'm gonna have some fun first. Wasn't that the point?”

He stepped away again and she couldn't tell what he was doing until she felt one hand on her ass, holding her open. He slid two fingers into her this time and she groaned at the feel of it, her control slipping as he found the right spot again, teasing her into readiness with a few light strokes. This time she expected he would pull out and leave her literally hanging and she let her head fall to the padding on the desk to wait.

“Now I'm getting predictable, eh?” he said, noticing her relax. She felt his breath against her just seconds before his tongue ran from clit to entrance. She knew she made a noise, but she couldn't have said what it was. He flicked her, pressed his tongue flat on her and then sucked her folds into his mouth. She couldn't do anything to stop him. She didn't want to anyway. Every touch brought her closer. He must have sensed it too.

He stood behind her, his shadow looming over her in the room. He seemed to be watching her as she heaved for air against the desk. His fingers found their way back inside her, toying and playing without giving her the relief she needed.

“Had enough?” he growled.

“Yes...”

“Too bad.”

And he began the cycle all over again. First he stroked her with his cock, then he fingered her, and finally he licked her until she was begging for release. She was nearly mindless from it, her sight red and hazy with frustration. She couldn't speak anymore when he talked to her, asking her things she had no answer for. She could only grunt and moan, her legs twitching. She was thankful she didn't have to rely on them to stand and let the desk hold her weight.

She didn't know how long it went on – it was so hard to see the passage of time in the Fort where there were no windows. But she noticed a new urgency to his touch at last, and instead of toying with her, he pushed inside her, filling her up until she felt like she might burst. He leaned over her, his hips snapping against her, and he grabbed a handful of her hair, tugging it back. Her head lifted off the desk, her neck protesting the motion, but the pleasure was intense and she didn't ask him to stop. She drew closer to orgasm again. But he didn't let her fall over the edge.

He pounded into her instead, a steady rhythm that was relentless in its fury. She felt him curve inside her and she lifted her hips off the desk, trying to accommodate him. The angle was punishing and cruelly skimmed over the place that had felt so good before, leaving her longing for its return. He was no longer pushing her toward climax. Every thrust he made she shouted, every slap of skin on skin resounded in the room and she knew she was sweating. She could feel it running down her arms and legs. Her stomach was stuck to the padding beneath her. And still he fucked her, a little deeper, a little harder.

With a loud groan he emptied into her, wave after wave of come until she felt it drip from her body to run down the side of the desk. He pulled out of her and watched and if she could have hidden her face she would have.

“What a mess you are,” he said, his voice tempered and soft now that he'd purged whatever demon had possessed him. “But don't think I'm finished, little Red. Oh no.”

He gathered up the come that was streaming from her with his fingers, pushing it back inside to lubricate her, stroking her walls and pressing against that spot that made her jump and writhe. She no longer had any voice to shout or cry out, but she could clench down on his seeking fingers and she could just barely move her hips in time. He twisted his hand, changing the angle within and he brushed against her deepest spot. With his other hand he reached for her clit, flicking it and soothing it, over and over. She began to tremble.

“Come for me, Red,” she heard him say and he sounded every bit as breathless as she felt. The rawness of it unhinged her, and she tipped into delirium, the orgasm so powerful it made her see stars. She was nearly silent as she came, her throat parched and hoarse, her cries sounding like little more than mewls. It went on for a long time and she gave in to it, not even aware of when he pulled away and wiped up the mess he'd made of them both.

She barely felt the cuffs unlock from her ankles and wrists, but she knew when he lifted her from the desk that her joints were stretched well beyond what was healthy. It was dark wherever he laid her down, and while his thumbs painfully worked into the balls of her shoulders to release them, she knew if he didn't she would be too stiff to move. He covered her with a blanket and she felt him slide up against her. A fit of shivers assaulted her as she came down from the orgasmic high and he held her, chafing her skin with his warmer hands.

“Bed?” she managed once they'd stopped.

“Yeah, you need it after all that. You're going to be sore tomorrow, Red.”

She saw a brief flare of light as he lit a cigar, and a moment later she could smell the smoke from it. He puffed on it, the burning end lighting up nothing more than a shadow of his face, but she could see his profile well enough to see that he wasn't looking at her. He was staring into space, his thoughts somewhere she couldn't reach.

“Say my name,” she mumbled, before utter exhaustion could claim her. The glowing cigar tilted downward as he turned to her. She couldn't tell if he was smiling or not. “I know you know it.”

“Joan,” he said soberly. “Joan Whitfield, attorney at law, Suffolk County, Massachusetts.”

“My friends call me Joannie. 'm leaving tomorrow.”

“Figured you would. You got what you came for. Where will you go?”

“Dunno. Don' care.”

“If you need me again, you know where to find me.”

“Do I?”

This time she saw the gleam of teeth in the glow. “Yeah. I'll be here. Or I'll be in Diamond City.”

“Name?”

“You don't know it?”

“Can't call you _Connie_.”

He was quiet for a moment, the silence only broken by the sound of his puffs on the cigar. She was nearly asleep before she heard him again. “Conrad.”

“Conrad Kellogg. Institute mercenary, bane of my life and damn good fuck.”

He barked out a laugh. “Will you be back?”

“Might. We'll see.”

“Go to sleep, Joannie,” he whispered, stubbing the cigar out of her line of sight and sliding down next to her. His arms cradled her once more against his warmth. “For one night we can pretend.”

 

 

~Fin~

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who read this little side trip into the dark and angsty. It's not my normal fare for sure, but I'm glad I wrote it. I'm rather proud of it, in fact. I hope this last chapter heals all the distressed feels from the last one. Cheers!


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